A Study in Reason

Friday, November 14th, 2014

The big break happened this morning. I got a call from John saying they were heading to St Bart's hospital and to meet them there as soon as possible.

"We've got a live one," he panted. He sounded like he was running. "Barely, but she's alive."
Sophie Street had been found in an alley, suffering from hypothermia but the cold is what saved her. She was in surgery for internal bleeding and the closing of a stab wound at the base of her neck when I arrived. Everyone seemed happy with the result, just as long as she survived the surgery, the doctors said she'd probably be okay.
Her parents arrived around the same time as I did. It was six thirty am but both Mr and Mrs Street were fully dressed, though looking rather dishevelled, and wide eyed, carrying all the signs of running on adrenaline. She threw herself into my arms when she saw me and sobbed into my shoulder. I awkwardly patted her back and quietly reassured her everything was going to be okay.
After a few hours, a doctor in surgical scrubs found us.
"She's going to pull through," he told the group of us in the waiting room. "She's in a coma from the cold and the trauma but she's going to make it." His announcement was received with cheers from Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan and sobbing from the Streets. John and I breathed a sigh of relief and Sherlock just watched the proceedings with a quiet look of amusement on his face. I walked over to him.
"You could at least look happy to know she's going to make it," I told him, smirking.
"I am. See, smiling and everything. When she wakes up she can give us some answers."
"Yeah. Just don't give her a hard time. We don't know what happened to her. She mightn't want to talk about it."
"Why not?" He asked, genuinely confused. "Telling us what happened is the key to saving her friends and getting justice for the ones that were killed."
"You don't care about that, though. Anyway, why don't you ask John why talking about something like that would be too painful to do so soon after recovering from her mental and physical injuries."
"What's John got to do with anything?" He asked.
"He was injured in Afghanistan, remember?" I reminded him, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. "He might just be useful in understanding what will be going through that poor girl's head when she wakes up and you interrogate her about it." Sherlock frowned but walked over to John.
After five hours of waiting, (in which Sherlock got so bored he looked like he was itching to shoot something) we were finally let into Sophie Street's room.
The blinds were closed, but enough light slipped through to cast ghastly shadows on her face. She looked gaunt and her face was very pale against the white sheets. Purple bruises blossomed over her face and arms and every time she shifted slightly she winced even with the morphine she was hooked up to. Her mother was holding onto her hand tightly but she didn't seem to notice.
"Sophie Street?" Lestrade asked gently. He was ignored.
"Sophie," said Sherlock gently, surprising everyone in the room. "We need to know what happened." I stared at him. She shook her head slightly.
"She hasn't said a word since she woke up," said her father.
"Please Sophie," I joined in. "Anything you can tell us is vitally important. You had other girls with you, didn't you?" There was a pause and everyone waited with baited breath. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the broken girl gave a small nod. I stepped closer, trying not to look threatening. She didn't seem to notice. "How many?" I asked. There was silence for a full half a minute before she spoke.
"I don't know." Her voice sounded dead and beyond tired.
"Can you guess?" I asked, worried I was pushing too hard. She thought for a moment.
"They kept getting taken away," she said softly, a dry sob escaping her lips.
"Who did? Do you know any names?" Sherlock asked urgently.
"Michelle is still there. And Evie. The two that came back - I think their names are Alice and Katherine but I don't know about the others."
"Where are they?" Lestrade asked.
"I... I feel tired," the girl said.
"That's okay just one more question. Where were you?"
"I don't know. We were kept in a..." She took a shuddering breath. "In a basement of some kind. I don't know where."
"Thank you, Sophie. We'll leave you in peace."
"There was a girl - Siobhan. I was told she was dead."
"I'm sorry, Sophie," I said. She nodded. Her eyes glazed over and she stared into space.

She was still holding Katherine close to her body when the footsteps echoed down from the concrete steps that lead to the basement. Sophie had been taken last night and hadn't returned. She didn't want to think about it, but she knew that Sophie was dead. After a week of this, death was starting to sound like a more pleasant option. The girl whimpered when the door opened and she clapped a hand over her mouth before the sound could draw the monster's attention. There were now only four girls in the basement, she and Michelle were the only ones who hadn't been taken out of the basement for a night. She felt sick. Not enough food and dehydration was impairing her judgment and preventing her from thinking properly and it made her angry at this whole situation and the fact it was her fault. Girls had died because of her. She was sure of it. She was the only connection between all of them which must mean it was her fault. What made her despair was that she didn't know why. If the monster ever spoke, she could reason with him. It's her fault so he should take it out solely with her. After a few days she had realised that in a weird twisted way, he was. He was forcing her to watch all the girls who had ever been her best friends being taken away to be tortured and killed. She'd worked it out now so when she heard the heavy footfalls she had started to sob quietly.
"Michelle, I am so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't fight. Please you have to survive this. We have to get out of this somehow. Just survive today then he seems to leave you alone. I'm so sorry."
Then Alice had stepped in and shushed her and she'd taken to comforting Katherine, who at the sound had tried to bury her face in her shoulder.